A Very Elegant Conquest
by Nakhti
Summary: While setting off from Giza Port, Evy isn't the only one who sees someone to catch her eye... Who is the young woman walking up the gangplank, and what effect will she have on Jonathan when they are thrown together one sultry night on the Nile?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I didn't plan this one, inspiration just suddenly whacked me in the kneecaps, and said it would break my legs if I didn't write it! I have a sketchy idea of where it's going, but we'll see if inspiration stays poised over me with a baseball bat...

* * *

Prologue

* * *

"Yes," Jonathan mused as he watched his sister's eyes following the dashing American adventurer up the gang plank. "Nothing to like there at all..."

Evy turned to him with a sternly raised eyebrow that softened into a shy smile, perfectly aware that she had been caught out by her brother.

Suddenly Jonathan's own eye was caught by the sight of a young lady embarking with a group of gentlemen; well, one gentleman, on whose arm she was being escorted, and a general rabble of natives bustling noisily around them.

"Now _there's _a pretty little prospect..." Jonathan said to himself, lips pursed appreciatively.

Evy followed his line of sight to the object of his admiration.

"Yes, she certainly is elegant," she added her own feminine approval of the woman.

Well, more of a girl really, Evelyn thought, as she couldn't be any older than her late teens . Her figure was tall and boyish, but femininely dressed in a low-waisted, pastel green flapper dress, which fell in floaty layers down to her calves, showing a modest amount of her white-stockinged legs. Her bare arms were draped in a crocheted shawl that shimmered with tiny silver beads, and on her head she wore a cream cloche hat pulled down low over her eyes, hiding her cropped hair and most of her face. Evelyn had never seen anyone quite so fashionable or modern in the four years since she had moved to Cairo.

"She must be European," Evy added, her interest in the woman extending only as to where she might have acquired such a lovely outfit.

"I don't care if she came on a banana boat from Brazil, she's absolutely stunning!" Jonathan gushed.

Evelyn rolled her eyes under her wide-brimmed sunhat, and shook her head. Jonathan was so predictable. Among all the available debutants and beauties of London society, it had always been the one he couldn't have that he had inevitably ended up running after.

"Jonathan, she's obviously with that gentleman." Evy nodded towards the man who was impatiently gesturing to the baggage handlers and shouting orders from beneath his panama hat as he guided the elegant woman up the gang plank. "She's probably his wife, and from the look of the timid little thing, I'd make a good guess that they're embarking on their honeymoon."

Jonathan looked dismayed for a moment, then scoffed derisively.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he blustered. "She's _far_ too young to be married! And certainly not to that stuffy old Etonian! He must be fifty if he's a day! Far more likely to be his daughter, wouldn't you say?"

His words smacked more of wishful thinking than logic, but Evy was impatient to get onto the boat herself. The luggage had already been crane-lifted onto the deck and it looked as though they were about to retract the gang plank.

"If you say so Jonathan. Now hurry up on deck, or she'll leave without us!"

Thinking that by 'she' his sister was referring to the young lady, rather than the 'Queen of the Nile' about to disembark, Jonathan jumped to it immediately.

* * *

"Marianne, my dear, would you like to take some air with me up on deck?"

Professor chamberlain watched as the young girl pulled the bell-shaped hat off her head, revealing the cropped blonde hair that fell to the nape of her neck. The soft finger-waves swayed about her ears as she shook her head.

"I think I might lie down for a while," she said, delicately placing the hat down on the wicker chair beside the cabin window, before sitting down on the bed to remove her cream leather shoes.

"Suit yourself," Chamberlain replied. In truth he was not particularly put out. Now he would be able to enjoy his iced-tea in peace while he consulted his notes, without the distraction of her inquiring about them every five minutes. He knew his archaeological studies bored her to tears, and the more she feigned interest, the more it irritated him. "I shall come to call for you at six-thirty, so that you may dress for dinner in the saloon."

Without waiting for her agreement, he dipped his head and ducked back out of the cabin door.

Marianne sighed as she folded her hands in her lap. Then after a moment she put her shoes back on, picked up her hat, and left the cabin in the opposite direction.

* * *

**A/N:** I know I always say I hate renditions, but I set myself the challenge of introducing an OC in a way that hasn't been done before, and making her have an interesting impact on the story without changing the main events of the plot; more of a parallel subplot that sometimes crosses over with the main plot. Therefore, I plan on steering away from the movie scenes as much as possible so that we are only aware of them in the background. Please let me know if it sounds like something you'd be interested in reading!

**FYI:** 'Cloche' is French for bell, which is where the cloche hat gets its name. It was very typical of the 20s, close fitting to the head to suit the cropped hairstyles, and worn down over the eyes so women had to tilt their heads back to see, giving them a haughty posture.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Seems I had a little more inspiration for this after all. It's weak though, so all encouragement and suggestions very much welcome.**

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

The _Queen of the Nile _glided up the river to the monotonous, churning rhythm of propeller blades pushing the polluted waters out behind them in a scummy brown wake, and the deep burr of the engine that occasionally choked and changed pitch as they hit a weed bed. 

Maryanne played with the long string of beads lying against her dress as she stood at the railing, watching Egypt slip lazily into her imperfect memory. She did not see the squalid villages piled haphazardly on the bank, or hear the naked children playing in the filth and detritus that lined the shore, or smell the agricultural effluence that poured into the water from ditches. When she was asked questions about her honeymoon at coffee mornings with the other faculty wives, or offered up polite anecdotes from her travels at the ladies' bridge club, she would not need such information. They would only be interested in the majestic vistas of Egypt's ancient monuments, or the exciting discoveries her husband had made on his dig, or the luxury of their executive suite on the transatlantic ocean liner that had brought them from Boston.

Maryanne sighed. A few months ago she had been a girl with no greater concern than whether her father would let her get away with her fashionably short hemline, or if it went with her new fur-collared wool coat, but now she was a woman with afternoon engagements and dinner parties and departmental functions. 

And a husband.

Arthur Chamberlain had been a friend of her father's ever since joining the Department of Ancient History and Archaeology at Harvard when he was still studying for his doctorate, and then later his colleague. She could remember the two of them drinking brandy in her father's study after dinner as they argued over the rights to the Tutankhamen burial treasures, or pored over the latest report from Howard Carter's dig in the _Boston Gazette_. On other occasions she had listened patiently as he tried to explain hieroglyphics to her, getting lost as he spiralled off into rambling digressions about Champollion and the Rosetta stone and Napoleon's Egyptian campaign. She had never inherited her father's passion for the subject, but she still maintained a respectful awe for the man who shared it with him. 

When her father died two months ago, Arthur almost became her last link with the world he had inhabited; a world she had never truly belonged in but felt terrified at the thought of leaving. The dusty halls of academia, with their marble silence and gilt lettering and musty smell of withered manuscripts, were safe and familiar. Arthur too was something familiar, a constant in her suddenly unstable existence. When he succeeded to her father's chair at the university and became a professor, whether out of some sense of loyalty or obligation he took it upon himself to look after his late predecessors' eighteen-year-old daughter. Had she been younger he could have made her his ward, but being of an age when she could not respectably live with a man who was not her relation, he made her his wife instead.

So a month ago they had married in a small ceremony at the university chapel, and two weeks later they were sailing to Alexandria on their honeymoon.

Of course, there had never been any question of where they would spend it. Not only was Egypt an eminently fashionable travel destination after all the column inches dedicated to the recent discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb, but Arthur had also recently managed to secure funding for a dig, and being the parsimonious scholar he was, saw it as the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Maryanne wouldn't have objected even if she'd had a say in the matter. If being able to tell people that she had gone to Egypt on her Honeymoon was all the pleasure the trip afforded her, then it would be enough.

And she didn't expect the trip to offer much else in the way of pleasure. While her husband was occupied with his dig, she anticipated spending several hot, tedious weeks sipping tea under a parasol outside the ruins of some ancient necropolis, wishing she was somewhere else.

"Penny for them," came a voice from over her shoulder.

Startled out of her reverie, she turned to see a dark-haired gentleman in a cream linen suit, regarding her from the shade where he leaned against the side of the cabin.

Maryanne immediately stopped fiddling with her beads and glanced nervously about the deck. But the only other person she could see was a young woman in a primrose-coloured blazer, sitting in a deckchair completely engrossed in her book.

"Forgive me," the Englishman said as he pushed himself upright and strolled towards her, "I don't mean to be nosy, but it seems too jolly nice of a day to be looking so sombre..."

Maryanne awkwardly pushed a wispy lock of hair back under her hat, and lowered the brim to hide her blush.

"Yes, you're quite right – where are my manners?" the man said amiably as he pulled himself up short, favouring her with an instantly disarming smile. "Jonathan Carnahan, delighted to make your acquaintance." 

He put out his hand as he introduced himself, but Maryanne hesitated.

"Do I need to fetch a third party to introduce us properly?" His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced up the deck towards the woman in the primrose blazer.

Maryanne quickly made a noise to recapture his attention. She really didn't want another witness to her embarrassment, and realising that she was probably being a little over-cautious about her first lone encounter with a man after becoming a married woman, she warily put out her left hand.

"Mrs. Maryanne Chamberlain, pleased to meet you."

Was it her imagination, or did his expression falter for just an instant before he took her hand and genteelly raised it to his lips, then touched them to the gold band on her wedding finger?

Straightening up again, he cocked one brow in polite surprise. 

"You're American," he stated with a smile. "I don't suppose you're anything to do with the chaps I just met in the saloon? No," he answered himself with a wry shake of the head, "you're far too much of a lady to be mixed up with such rough sorts..."

He cocked his head, as if waiting for her to agree with him, but in that she had to disappoint him.

"They wouldn't happen to be a surly, dark-haired misanthrope by the name of Daniels, a mouthy Kentucky cowboy named Henderson, and a bespectacled hanger-on answering to Burns, would they?"

She smiled as she saw Jonathan recognise her descriptions, agreeing with them with a vigorous nod.

"That's them all right," he chuckled. "They're not a bad bunch really, good enough company to pass an evening with, but I wouldn't have thought any of them was sophisticated enough for a lady of your obvious refinement. If you don't mind me asking, which one is fortunate enough to be, er... your husband...?"

Maryanne nearly laughed at the very idea. But then her face fell at the thought of telling him who her husband actually was. How did one with all dignity explain that she was married to a man twenty-five years her senior, who was more interested in scraps of papyrus and fragments of limestone than spending time with her on their honeymoon?

"Oh, I don't suppose you met him with the others, as he's very much involved with his studies. We're not really on social terms with our travel companions, you understand..."

Thankfully, Jonathan seemed to sense her reluctance on the subject, and quickly passed over it.

"Well, it's going to be a miserable trip for you if that's all you have for company." He frowned in concern, beginning to suspect that the quiet solitude he had disturbed was not an uncommon occurrence. It was not right that such a young, vibrant girl should be left to amuse herself quietly. "But I know someone who I think would be very glad to make your acquaintance, as she's a bit shy of coarse ruffians herself. Will you come and meet my sister, Evy?"

Grateful to be the recipient of such kind attention after the indifference of her husband, Maryanne nodded with a smile, thentook his proffered arm and let him lead her along deck towards the woman reading in the deckchair.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: This has been on the backburner for a while, but I was hit by new inspiration today, and this just sorta appeared. It is going somewhere, just rather slowly ;-)

Jonathan would have considered it one of his better ideas, had it not backfired quite so spectacularly. He had only intended to introduce his new acquaintance to Evy in order to make her feel more comfortable, to reassure her that his intentions were honourable, and that he was not just some opportunistic womaniser looking for lonely and vulnerable ladies to prey upon. Well, not on this occasion. Then he had planned to take advantage of one of the awkward pauses that always occur once the niceties are taken care of, and recapture her attention with his irrepressible charm to entertain her for the rest of the afternoon.

The only problem with that plan was that the instant the two women had overcome their natural social awkwardness and engaged in conversation, it had been impossible to get a word in edgeways. Jonathan was now left feeling completely surplus to requirement as he made the obligatory noises of interest or surprise, nodding or shaking his head as appropriate, while the two women continued to discover new points of common interest, from the current hem length or style of hat to the discovery of their fathers' mutual profession.

"Your father was professor Reisner?" Evy had exclaimed excitedly upon hearing about Maryanne's late father. "Professor Earnest Reisner, who discovered the tomb of Queen Hetepheres at Giza? But my father knew him! They worked on a dig together in Saqqara back before the war!"

That had been it then, the two of them had been lost in comparing reminiscences of life as the daughter of a great Egyptian explorer. Jonathan had long since given up any hope of steering the conversation in a more interesting direction, since Evy had successfully blocked his every attempt thus far. He was about to offer to fetch more iced teas when he was greeted by the most unwelcome sight of Maryanne's husband walking agitatedly towards them.

"Maryanne, my dear," professor Chamberlain said in his best imitation of good natured displeasure as he approached his errant wife, "I said I would call for you at six-thirty. It is now..." Retrieving a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat he flipped open the casing and gave it a brief glance. "...Six-forty-three, leaving you only seventeen minutes to dress for dinner."

Jonathan's face twitched. Even if he hadn't already been irritated with the man for being his new infatuation's husband, he would have felt the same instant dislike of him at the obvious discomfort his reproach caused Maryanne. He had a good mind to tell him his wife looked utterly stunning as she was, that to alter even one aspect of her appearance would be to meddle with perfection, and that if he did not see it himself then for all the letters after his name he had to be one of the stupidest men who had ever drawn breath.

However, past experience told him such comments would not be well received. In the course of his high-risk romantic endeavours he had become accustomed to dealing with husbands, relying on his savoir faire to talk his way out of countless suspicious looking (and rightly so) situations. Fortunately on this occasion he was spared the charge of impropriety by his sister's presence. So, with his usual brazen charm he allowed himself to presume on his short acquaintance with Mrs Chamberlain to adopt a casual manner towards the man he already resented.

"I'm sorry old chap, I'm afraid it was me who kidnapped your lovely wife," he said as he took off his panama with a sheepish little bow towards the offended husband. "Jonathan Carnahan. I'm travelling with my sister, and thought the two ladies might benefit from each other's company."

The professor smiled tightly, obviously still impatient to go to dinner and irritated by the need to observe formalities. "Arthur Chamberlain, Professor of Egyptology at Harvard University," he said pompously as he tipped the ridiculously incongruous fez hat that he must think lent him an air of authenticity among the locals. Jonathan just thought it made him look like an organ grinder's monkey in a linen suit. "Perhaps we might have a chance to become better acquainted at dinner."

It seemed that was all the courtesy Jonathan could expect from the man, who made to take his wife's arm and turned to leave. Maryanne, however, seemed conscious of his bad manners, and her embarrassment was another thing Jonathan could not forgive the professor for.

"Arthur, dear," she said awkwardly, attempting to steer him back round to face her new friends, "Jonathan and his sister, Evelyn, are Egyptologists as well." Jonathan thought that was a rather generous assessment in his case, for which he felt a strange rush of warmth to the pit of his stomach. "Their father was Howard Carnahan, the archaeologist and water colour artist who helped document some of the findings from Tutankhamen's tomb. He worked with my father too, on his last dig in Saqqara before he retired from fieldwork. I'm sure the four of us will have much to talk about. Couldn't we get a table together at dinner?"

Jonathan glanced at her questioningly before resuming his polite smile at the professor. Was she really so eager to discuss their common archaeological interests, or did she just want a little respite from the tedious company of her husband? Or was she hoping, like he was, that Evy and the professor would become so engrossed in academic debate it would afford them the opportunity to get better acquainted?

The professor gave that strained smile again, but as refusing would have been too impolite even for him, he reluctantly acquiesced. "Of course, my dear, I would be delighted," he said with a patronisingly pat of her hand on his arm, causing Jonathan to clench his jaw in irritation. But his smile was back in place by the time the professor turned to him again. "Shall we meet in the saloon at quarter-past-seven, or do the ladies require a little longer?"

Never one to admit to any kind of feminine weakness, Evelyn turned to Maryanne with a beaming smile. "I'm sure we ladies can be ready by then, don't you think?" Then leaning towards her she added in a hushed tone, "I don't know about you, but I didn't exactly pack for social engagements. I'm only going to change my blouse and put on a fresh pair of stockings!"

Maryanne smiled back, thinking how wonderful it must be to be free of the constraints of decorum, until she caught a glimpse of the scandalised expression on her husband's face. In the Boston society he had been brought up in, ladies always dressed for dinner.

"I might be a little longer," she said apologetically. "Arthur dear, the three of you go ahead. I'll join you when I'm ready."

Jonathan did a bad job of masking his disappointment as the professor led his wife back up the deck to their cabin. "Wonderful," he muttered to Evelyn as he kicked at a loose plank of decking. "Now we get stuck with that jolly bugger for half the evening. Well, as I have no intention of putting on a fresh pair of stockings for dinner, if you don't mind I'm going to go get myself a bloody great big scotch. See you in there."

With that he walked off in the direction of the saloon.

A/N: Meh, it's an ok chapter. I'm enjoying getting back into Jonathan though. I forgot how much fun he is to write!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

Jonathan sighed as he leaned back on his dining chair, wishing Maryanne would hurry up and join them. Evy and the professor had locked horns in serious discussion the moment they sat down at the table, and if there was one thing Jonathan really wasn't in the mood for, it was another tedious debate over the rights to the Tutankhamen burial treasures.

"Well of course they wouldn't have been discovered were it not for Howard Carter, or the funding of his wealthy patron," Evy was saying animatedly, a slight flush coming to her cheeks as that stubborn little crease appeared in the centre of her brow, "but the treasures belong to Egypt – well, to everybody really. They should be in the Cairo museum where the whole world can enjoy them, not hidden away in some private collection."

Evidently the professor was not in agreement.

"What, and let the corrupt bureaucrats at the Antiquities Service reap the profits of others' labours?" he asked, one eyebrow angled ironically beneath his fez.

Evelyn took a sip of her iced tea while she prepared her counter argument. "Professor, the Antiquities Service was set up in order to protect Egypt's heritage–"

"Poppycock!" Chamberlain retorted. "They're happy enough to grant excavation permits to anyone with a spade and a stick of dynamite, and they couldn't care less how many worthless potsherds curious tourists take back as souvenirs, but the instant a legitimate archaeologist actually finds something of value they're circling like vultures to strip them of their findings. Then they turn them over to those greedy little Arab mercenaries at the museum, who are just as corrupt as the bureaucrats but twice as incompetent. They haven't the first clue how to properly identify and catalogue these priceless artefacts, making it all the more easy for things to go 'missing,' which then suspiciously turn up on the black market. Is that an accurate appraisal of the system you wish to advocate, Miss Carnahan?"

Evy's cheeks flushed deeper, but with anger now. "No, professor, I must say that is NOT an accurate appraisal of the system, which I see in operation every day in my post at the museum!" she said heatedly.

The professor eyed her with a sceptical look. "You can't possibly be involved with the preservation of artefacts, or have any idea what the curator is _really _up to. I presume you must be a secretary."

Evy's colour rose another notch. "I'll have you know, _Professor_," she huffed indignantly, "that I am a valued assistant to the curator, because not only did my father instruct me well in the methodologies of his discipline, but I can also translate both hieroglyphics _and _hieratic. And I am _not_ a secretary, I am a Librarian!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. This was his cue to leave.

"Drinkies, Evy?" he asked hopefully, seizing her near empty glass as an excuse to go to the bar. She turned to look at him, but seeing she was far too busy choking on her own indignation to answer, he assumed that was a yes and quietly slipped away from the table.

He was standing at the bar, about to down a neat Glenmorangie before ordering another, and debating whether or not to ask the barkeep to slip a large measure of brandy into Evy's iced tea, when the glass paused halfway to his lips.

The most heavenly vision had just appeared in the doorway to the right of the bar. Fiddling alternately with the diamante clip holding back one side of her wavy, side-parted blonde bob, then the gold crocheted shawl draped around her shoulders, she looked awkward and self-conscious as she scanned the room for a familiar face.

Jonathan swallowed hard, the glass in his hand forgotten. He wanted to call out to her but his throat suddenly felt dry. Wanting desperately to catch her attention before she spotted her husband and joined him at the table, he raised his hand to wave.

Unfortunately he waved with the hand still holding the full tumbler, and managed to slosh a good deal of fine single malt onto his sleeve. "Bugger!" he hissed as he dumped the glass on the bar and shook his sleeve, looking up in the hope that she hadn't noticed. Although he couldn't be sure whether it was from amusement at his clumsiness or simply her pleasure at seeing him, the smile that now graced her lips made him feel all warm and foolish. He beamed one back at her as she started towards him.

Jonathan could not begrudge the time she had taken to get ready when she looked the way she did now. She was wearing a stunning beaded dress with a plunging V neckline, the shape of which was repeated in the alternate bands of antique gold and black that arrowed downwards in a chevron pattern. The hem ended just below the knee, but was extended to her calves by a long fringe of black beads, and her long legs were clad in stockings so sheer for a moment he felt his pulse quicken to think they were bare. Although she had self-consciously covered herself up with the gold shawl, Jonathan could just see a tantalising glimpse of her bare shoulders and the black spaghetti straps of her dress through the weave. He cleared his throat, getting a hold of himself just as she reached his side.

"Hello again," she said softly, looking lovely and graceful and very much married as she propped her black clutch bag on the bar with her left hand, showing the unmistakable glint of gold encircling her wedding finger.

"Yes, long time no see," he said in a lame attempt at humour.

Maryanne's enchanting smile instantly disappeared, and her eyes dropped to the walnut surface of the bar. "I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting," she said apologetically.

"No no, you were worth the wait," Jonathan blurted out clumsily, then gritted his teeth at the way that sounded. "I mean, I don't mind waiting..." Why was he making such a pathetic mess of what usually came as easily as falling over? "You look great," he finished with a schoolboy smile that he only ever invoked as his last saving grace.

Maryanne blushed prettily. "I feel silly," she admitted as she fidgeted with her hair again.

Jonathan had to resist the urge to lean in and smell her neck as he caught a waft of delicate floral perfume.

"You don't look silly," he reassured her, forgetting Evy's drink on the bar as he offered Maryanne his arm, hoping she wouldn't notice his soggy sleeve.

"But I'm so overdressed," she said, scanning the saloon as she snaked her hand round Jonathan's arm and let him lead her towards their table. In her black patent leather heels she was a good few inches taller than him, which only added to her self-consciousness. "No one else has gone to the effort of dressing up."

"And now they all wish they had, me included," Jonathan said, glancing down sheepishly at his crumpled linen suit. "I hope you won't think this inappropriate, but I have to tell you something."

"What?" Maryanne asked anxiously, dreading the censure she was so used to receiving from her husband.

Jonathan smiled, putting her at ease again. "It's just that earlier I would have said you couldn't look any more stunning than you did in that green dress. But I was wrong. You look incredible."

It made Jonathan's insides dance to see the delight mixed with disbelief in her smile. It was almost as if she were unused to receiving compliments, and he made a mental note to pay her as many more as he could decently get away with before the end of the night.

As they reached the table, Jonathan noted the sour look on Chamberlain's face. Probably thinking, along with everyone else in the room, what a good looking couple the two of them made, and how much more natural Maryanne looked on Jonathan's arm compared to when she had walked the deck with the crusty old professor.

"I believe our party is now complete," Jonathan announced as he held out the chair next to his own to seat Maryanne. "Shall we order?"

Evy was still looking a little piqued as she welcomed Maryanne, remarking on how pretty her dress was, before turning to Jonathan. "Where's my drink?"

* * *

The dinner was an absolute disaster. Although the grilled Nile perch on a bed of roasted vegetable tabbouleh was top notch, surprisingly so considering the limitations of a steamship kitchen, Jonathan could barely eat a mouthful. Evy and the professor had got into another argument shortly after the meal arrived, and the final straw for Evy had come when the professor had condescendingly pronounced 'Yes, well I wouldn't expect a woman to understand.' Jonathan had never seen Evy quite so livid (perhaps with the exception of when he had missed his own graduation ceremony at Oxford because he was still sleeping off the previous night's celebrations – in a married woman's bed). She had stormed out of the restaurant leaving her stuffed crab almost untouched, and Jonathan now with a very unwanted third party to the conversation he had been trying to have with Maryanne. The rest of the meal had been conducted in near silence, with only the minimum required polite conversation, mostly pertaining to the quality of the food or room furnishings. As soon as he could decently do so, Jonathan excused himself, wished them a pleasant evening, and left, although not without picking up a very large scotch from the bar on his way out.

Now he was leaning on the railing of the upper sundeck, watching the black waters ripple away from the hull towards the palm-lined bank of the Nile, which gleamed beneath a breathtakingly starlit African sky, nursing his near-empty drink and having a thoroughly well-earned sulk.

Just his bloody luck that he should meet the only woman he'd ever felt he could care for and cherish for the rest of his life, only to find she was already married to that pompous prig. Why on earth had such a lovely young thing shackled herself to that crusty bugger? She obviously did not love him – well, how could such a delicate flower love that overbearing school master in love with his own authority? Perhaps there was some financial incentive for her marrying him, like a conditional inheritance... perhaps she was heiress to an oil fortune? Jonathan was surprised, and a little dismayed, that he felt no interest in this imagined wealth of Maryanne Chamberlain. Perhaps he was going soft, but he couldn't help but think how much better the name Maryanne Carnahan sounded...

Jonathan was distracted from his thoughts by a flash of gold at the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw Maryanne lean her elbows upon the railing a little distance from him, and pull the crocheted shawl closer to ward off the breeze. Jonathan set his glass on the railing, then straightened up and removed his crumpled linen jacket. Walking towards her, he draped it around her shoulders before returning to his place and reclaiming his drink.

"Thank you," her gentle Boston accent floated to him on the breeze.

"What else could a gentleman do?" Jonathan asked lightly. "Just mind the sleeve, it's a little damp."

There was an awkward moment of eye contact, before they both looked down to stare over the railing, apparently lost in melancholy reflection.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to speak to each other more tonight," she said eventually.

Jonathan turned to her in genuine surprise, his face lit up like a little boy's on Christmas day. "Are you?"

Maryanne nodded. "I never got a chance to thank you for introducing me to your sister this afternoon."

Jonathan's face fell, and he returned to staring into his scotch. "Oh, that." Draining the glass he leaned back from the railing and made a show of indifference. "Don't mention it. I'm glad I could provide you with some female company while your husband was... otherwise engaged. Has he forsaken you for his studies again now?"

Maryanne looked distressed by his observation of her husband's absence, and Jonathan wished for all the world he hadn't made it.

"He said he needed to talk to the other members of the excavation party," she said, attempting to make excuses for his inattention. "We'll be heading out to the dig site tomorrow, and he just wants to make sure everything is ready."

"He's a madman," Jonathan said softly. "If I were on honeymoon with you, I wouldn't let you out of my bed, let alone my sight."

Maryanne looked away to hide her blush, and once again Jonathan wished he hadn't been quite so loose with his tongue. He'd had a lot to drink, but it wasn't just that. Something about her made him forget himself, and speak far more candidly than he intended. Usually so confident in the company of an attractive female, he was quite at a loss how to act. He couldn't assume his usual persona of the roguish charmer with her, as she was not the type of girl to fall for it. Nor did he wish her to be. Her modest blush might make him ashamed at his own immodesty, but it also delighted and enchanted him. None of the women he was usually attracted to had enough honesty left in them to conjure a genuine blush, although they feigned it with rouge. But Maryanne's pale, flawless complexion was never prettier than when those two dusky pink roses blossomed on her cheeks, as they did now.

In that moment Jonathan realised he would never do anything to compromise her ability to blush. No matter what secret fantasies he might harbour about seducing this beautiful young woman right under her stupid, arrogant husband's nose, he would never act upon them. Well, he consoled himself, he'd never had any serious intention of doing so anyway. For one thing, there was a distinct probability of getting caught, with her husband never more than a boat length away, and although the Harvard professor might seem like a prissy little academic, Jonathan knew the sort and had no doubt that any slight to his honour as a gentleman, and Chamberlain would have recourse to pistols – or worse, lawyers.

But he felt a far more compelling deterrent than the desire to avoid any unpleasant repercussions (and it was somewhat disconcerting that he should put any other consideration above his own personal safety). Even though he'd only known her for a few hours, something about Mrs Maryanne Chamberlain made him feel incredibly protective towards her. The very last thing he wanted to do was take advantage or her, or cause her distress of any sort. He only longed to see her smile more. Had he been her husband, he would not suffer anyone to produce that nervous, self-conscious look in her eyes, much less be the cause of it himself. He would praise her every day until she could not fail to understand how perfect she was in every particular.

But she was not his to praise, he reminded himself. The problem was, he could not trust himself to remember that when she was standing this close to him, her wavy blonde hair catching on her eyelashes as it blew in the river breeze, which carried the delicate scent of her perfume to him. He could covet her, but not posses her, and if that meant shunning her presence for her own protection, it was a sacrifice he was almost willing to make.

"Sorry, had a bit too much of the highland firewater," he mumbled apologetically. "See? Time for a refill," he said, feigning slightly less sober speech as he held up his empty tumbler.

Maryanne nodded with a sigh, and Jonathan's heart skipped to see she almost looked disappointed. "As you like, Mr Carnahan."

"Jonathan," he prompted her.

Maryanne smiled. "Jonathan," she corrected herself. "Anyway, I really must find your sister to apologise for my husband's behaviour."

Jonathan shrugged with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, Evy's probably gone to Bedfordshire by now, or else she's got her nose stuck in a book somewhere. I shouldn't worry about it, after eighteen rejections from the Bembridge scholars she's used to people like him by now."

Maryanne's face took on a pained expression. "Now I feel even worse," she said anxiously. "If I don't see her before we disembark tomorrow, will you tell her I'm sorry if Arthur spoilt her evening, and I really was very glad to meet her."

Jonathan nodded, shocked to feel a sudden lump in his throat at the idea that he himself might never see her again after tonight. Well, perhaps it was for the best. There was no point tormenting himself any more than necessary.

"Well," he said brightly, shaking off his uncharacteristic attack of emotion, "I think I might get that refill, and join the rest of the drunks on the lower deck. I hear there's a poker table set up, and I have something burning a hole in my pocket." At that he patted the place where the small octagonal bulge should have been against his left breast, before remembering his jacket was now draped around Maryanne.

"Oh, I should give you this back," she said hastily, straightening up to shrug off his jacket, but Jonathan halted her with an imploring hand.

"Please, keep it for tonight," he said, thinking it would give him an excuse to see her again in the morning, and how much it would please him to get it back knowing it had kept her warm in his absence, that something of his had been in contact with her body, making it smell even more sweetly of her. "I'll find you before we leave in the morning. Until then, I bid you good night, Mrs Chamberlain."

"Thank you," Maryanne mumbled, not knowing what else to say, but by the time she thought to add more he was already hurrying down the steps to the lower deck.

A/N: Well, hope you enjoyed reading that chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have no idea where this is coming from, but it's surprisingly easy to write! Next chapter will dip into the movie scenes of the poker game / boat sinking, but only a little, and hopefully with some clever twists!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Took a bit longer than planned, but this chapter didn't really do anything according to plan. Writing it is getting a little more like work now instead of just fun, but I'm still enjoying it. Hope you are too!

* * *

Chapter 5

Walking back along deck towards her cabin, Maryanne recognised the messy brown bun and yellow jacket clad shoulders of the woman sitting with her back to her. As she got closer, she smiled to see Evy's glasses perched on the end of her nose which was, as Jonathan had predicted, buried in a book.

Thinking that Evy might take to interruptions just as unkindly as Arthur did, Maryanne briefly considered carrying on past without saying anything. However, worried that might look rude, she decided to offer a polite greeting.

"Good evening, Miss Carnahan."

Evy raised her head sharply at the sound of her voice, a little startled by her presence, but then her face lit in a smile that seemed genuinely glad of the interruption.

"Oh, please don't call me that, Mrs Chamberlain, it makes me feel like my spinster aunt," she said, putting her book down on the table and letting her glasses fall off her nose to dangle from the chain around her neck.

Maryanne smiled back. "All right, as long as you stop calling me Mrs. Chamberlain, which makes me feel like an old married lady."

Evy nodded in agreement of their bargain. "Maryanne then. I'm glad I've seen you actually. I want to apologise for the way I left dinner, it was so rude of me."

Maryanne shook her head. "No, I should be the one apologising for my husband's behaviour. I'm afraid he's not very liberal minded when it comes to women working, but it was unforgiveable for him to belittle you like that. I think it's wonderful that you have a job you take so much pride in."

Evy beamed at her, gesturing for her to take the seat opposite in anticipation of a lengthy chat. "Well, finding employment was something of a necessity after my parents died, and Jonathan wasted no time making use of his inheritance to virtually bankrupt the Carnahan estate, but I love having my independence. I can't imagine how useless I'd feel if I had nothing to do with myself all day."

Maryanne looked down at her hands awkwardly, and Evy realised what she'd said.

"Oh, I didn't mean..."

"It's all right," Maryanne said, making a valiant attempt not to look offended. "I do feel a little useless sometimes. I used to do a few odds and ends to help my father, typing up papers, organising his research, that kind of thing, but Arthur doesn't think it's fitting for his wife to do the job of a secretary."

"So what do you do with yourself all day?"

Maryanne sighed. "Read. I love books, so I envy you working in a library. I don't think I'd ever get any work done if I were surrounded by so much temptation though."

Evy was delighted by this turn in the conversation, especially at the tentative smile it brought to Maryanne's face. "I do find myself reading more than reshelving sometimes," she admitted with the look of a schoolgirl caught playing truant. "What sort of books do you like to read?"

Maryanne smiled bashfully. "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a romantic, and I just adore your English novelists. Jane Austen is my favourite. Lizzie Bennett is my absolute heroine."

"Because she shunned the marriage her family tried to force her into and followed her heart?" Evy prompted, tilting her head to regard the girl opposite out of the corner of her eye. She was sure that this poor girl was trapped in a loveless marriage by the wishes and expectations of others, and felt sorry that the only romance in her life had to be sought vicariously in books.

Maryanne shrugged. "After all that is bewitching about the idea of one's happiness depending entirely upon a particular person, it is not possible that it should be so."

Evy frowned. There was something very familiar about those words. After a moment she realised why. "That's a line from Sense and Sensibility!"

Maryanne chuckled. "I'm afraid you've caught me out. I said I was a romantic, but I never claimed to be a poet. All my best lines are borrowed."

"As, so it seems, are your clothes," Evy remarked, suddenly noticing that the jacket draped around her shoulders was Jonathan's - the whiskey stain on the sleeve gave it away. "My brother seems to have taken rather a shine to you, Mrs Chamberlain," she said, deliberately using her married title.

Maryanne looked at her hands as she began to turn her wedding ring on her finger. "He has been very thoughtful in making sure that I'm looked after while my husband takes care of his other concerns."

"Well, you credit him with more disinterested thoughtfulness than I," Evy muttered. Seeing Maryanne's blonde head come up sharply, Evy sighed. "I don't mean to speak ill of my brother, Maryanne, but his reputation is against him. Jonathan may have acted like a perfect gentleman with you so far, but it would be remiss of me not to put you on your guard in case that should lure you into an awkward situation. I have rued the consequences of my brother's indiscretions before, and I would hate for our friendship to be ruined by any improper behaviour on his part."

Maryanne looked quite taken aback. It had never crossed her mind that Jonathan's kindness had any dishonourable intention behind it. She could tell that he was something of a practiced charmer, but that rough edge of boyishness had reassured her that he was harmless and completely without guile. But in light of his sister's warning, now all his attentions towards her seemed to take on a more sinister motive. Not wanting to be seen to encourage any overly familiar gesture by him, especially one that might necessitate seeing him again, she hastily got up and shrugged off his jacket.

"Please would you return this to your brother, with my thanks," she said as she handed it to Evy. "I think I shall be too busy in the morning to return it to him personally."

Evy nodded in understanding as she took the jacket from her, and laid it in her lap. As she did, she felt something round and heavy hit her leg. But she didn't want to alarm Maryanne even further by searching through her brother's pockets in front of her, especially as she was unsure exactly what she would find.

"Well, it's going to be a long day tomorrow, and I should get some rest," Maryanne said, preparing to leave. "Good night Evy, and good luck on your dig. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Evy placed the jacket on the table and stood up to grasp Maryann's hand. "I hope you do too," she said with sincere affection. "Good night, Maryanne."

After watching the stunning American disappear into the cabin building, Evy sat down again and grabbed Jonathan's jacket. She found the solid metal object in his left breast pocket. "The little sneak-thief!" she hissed as she brought out the octagonal puzzle box. "That was in my travel bag this morning!"

* * *

When Jonathan reached the covered deck in front of the cabin building, where several tables had been set up for after-dinner entertainment aided by the ambient piano music drifting out from the open saloon doors, the poker game was already in full swing. The three Americans were seated around the card table, embodying the descriptions Maryanne had given of them that afternoon; Burns was scowling at the others over his cards with deep distrust, Henderson was spinning his revolver by the trigger guard like some gunslinger in a western, and Burns was polishing his glasses. The pot looked pretty healthy, with several stacks of notes arrayed around the gas lamp in the centre of the table, and although Jonathan realised, rather belatedly, that he had left his wallet in his jacket pocket, along with the puzzle box, he still had a few items on his person that should be enough to buy him into the game.

With no need to stand on ceremony, having already been invited to join the game when they'd met in the bar that afternoon, Jonathan dragged over a chair for himself and sat down.

"So, chaps, fancy dealing me in on the next hand?"

"Hey Jon, you would not _believe_ how badly Burns's gettin creamed," Henderson laughed. "I knew he was near sighted but now we're robbing him blind!"

"Well, save some of the action for me," Jonathan said as he laid his father's gold watch down on the table and noticed the bottle of bourbon next to Daniels. "I say, is that your Jim Beam there?"

"Sure, help yourself," Daniels said, sliding him over the bottle and an empty glass. "The more drunk you get the better I play."

As he poured himself a large measure and waited for the current hand to finish, Jonathan looked around the deck. A few of the other tables were occupied by passengers enjoying the warm Egyptian evening over a glass of mint tea or an after-dinner brandy, but Jonathan felt his back stiffen when he saw the professor sitting at the one nearest them. He had to bite back his anger when he thought of the excuses Maryanne had made for her husband, saying that he needed to speak to the other members of his party, when Chamberlain showed no interest whatsoever in interacting with them as he nonchalantly puffed away at a hookah pipe, monocle jammed firmly in his eye socket to read the book propped open on his lap. So this was what he had abandoned his lovely wife for. Jonathan felt like throttling him.

"So, Jon," Daniels sneered, looking for someone to take out his contempt on as he threw in his hand and let Henderson claim the pot, "you n yur sis doin a bit o sight seein?"

The cantankerous yank's mocking tone irked Jonathan. Usually it wouldn't have bothered him, but for some reason he resented the insinuation that that he was just on a frivolous pleasure cruise. Taking another swig of bourbon he grinned tightly as the amber liquid burned his throat. "Not exactly, old boy. We're on a bit of an expedition ourselves. My sister thinks she's discovered the location of an artefact she's been researching and I said I'd help her out - you know, lend my archaeological expertise."

Daniels gave a derogatory laugh. "Expertise? What's she trying to locate, an ancient bottle of whiskey?"

The others round the table laughed, and Jonathan felt his colour rise. "Well, I didn't want to show off, but since you ask..." he said off-handly. "Actually it's not just one artefact, but an entire city, full of so much treasure it'll make Tutankhamen's tomb look like a poor prince's piggybank! No one's managed to find it in more than three thousand years, but yours truly here found the clue that revealed where it is!"

Suddenly sitting up at his table a few feet away, the professor's monocle dropped from his eye. "You and your sister are looking for the lost city of Hamunaptra?"

Henderson let out a whistle, then slapped his thigh. "Well I'll be damned!"

Jonathan swallowed his annoyance and forced himself to assume a light tone. "Yes, no doubt you think it's all a load of old pigswallow, and that Evy's just a silly girl for believing in fairy stories. Oh well, no harm in indulging her, eh?"

The professor smiled tightly. "On the contrary, Mr Carnahan, I just think that the search for the most important archaeological site in Egypt is best left to professionals, not foolish young librarians with delusions of grandeur! I'll thank you and your sister not to interfere with my expedition, and keep out of my way!"

Jonathan felt his stomach drop as that information sank in. That was the site of the professor's dig? He couldn't believe it. Evy was going to have kittens when she found out Dr Chamberlain was hoping to claim her discovery for himself! But that thought quickly took second place to another that occurred to him. If the professor and his team were searching for Hamunaptra as well, that meant... "You mean you're taking that delicate wife of yours all the way out into the desert on your _honeymoon?_"

"How my wife and I decide to spend our honeymoon is none of your business!" the professor snapped. Henderson sniggered, and the professor shot him an irritated look. "It just so happens that these gentlemen had already agreed to fund my expedition, and Maryanne wanted to see Egypt. I offered to let her stay at the Winter Palace in Luxor while I carried out my necessary fieldwork, but devoted as she is to me, she insisted on coming along. Now if you don't mind, I will speak no more on the subject. For all I know you only invited yourself to dine with my wife and I this evening in order to pick my brains about the whereabouts of the lost city!"

With that the professor jammed his monocle back in and returned to reading his book.

Jonathan was as close to furious as he ever got. The vengeful part of him hoped that Chamberlain was leading his damned expedition on a wild camel chase halfway to Timbuktu. But the other part, the part that was already missing Maryanne's soft voice and blushing smiles, hoped the American party ended up in the same place O'Connell was leading them.

That was a point, where the devil was O'Connell? Jonathan had hardly seen hide nor hair of the formerly condemned man since he'd turned up on the quayside shiny as a new penny, and he'd had to endure countless 'casual' enquiries from Evy as to his whereabouts. That girl was definitely more interested in their reluctant guide than she made out.

Suddenly Jonathan was snapped out of his thoughts as Daniels slammed the deck of cards down on the table in front of Burns, who was once more cleaning his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Quit playin with yur glasses and cut the deck, would ya Burns?"

"Without my glasses I can't see the deck to cut it, can I Dave?"

Then, as if in answer to Jonathan's question a moment ago, the cabin door behind him banged open and shut again, and Jonathan glanced behind him to see the solid six-feet-plus of American muscle looming over him, looking sceptical and sardonic as ever.

"Ah, O'Connell, sit down, sit down," Jonathan said, glad to have another member of his party to even the odds, "we could use another player."

"I only gamble with my life, never my money."

Jonathan took another drink and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust the gun-toting American to disappear all day then just nonchalantly swagger over and exude his macho presence with such irritating aplomb. While it was good to have a man like O'Connell in his corner, standing in his shadow made Jonathan feel rather like the puny sidekick to the chisel-jawed hero in one of those silly American comic books.

Jonathan's smile slipped briefly. All of a sudden he was rather glad the ex-Legionnaire had been AWOL for most of the day. Otherwise his sister might not have been the only one to fall under the spell of his rugged good looks. Maryanne would not be immune to them either, he supposed bitterly, imagining a further complication to the trip which for one moment had looked like going in his favour. Frowning at the prospect of having two rivals for Maryanne's attention, Jonathan wasn't aware that he himself had drawn the attention of the entire table until he looked up from his cards just as the Americans pointed towards him.

"He does," they accused in unison.

Jonathan shrugged with a sheepish grin, unsure what he was supposed to have done now. Turning to O'Connell for an explanation, his gaze met with steel blue eyes narrowed at him from under an all-American-hero flick of copper bronze hair.

Jonathan gulped. He got the feeling he was rapidly being demoted from puny sidekick to annoying insect to be squashed under O'Connell's size fourteen boot.

A/N: Like I said, that chapter didn't really go according to plan, but I wanted to show a different slant on the poker game, so I hope I've done that. As this is all a bit 'seat of my pants' with no plan as such, I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you think I should do with the Medjai attack / sinking scenes :-)


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